


Sweet Nothings

by Vanui, Woofemus



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Cooking, Cooking, Established Relationship, F/F, implied bea/zeta, implied song/silva
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26077645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanui/pseuds/Vanui, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woofemus/pseuds/Woofemus
Summary: Ilsa, in attempting to make dinner for Korwa, findsquestionablethe perfect help.
Relationships: Ilsa/Korwa (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Sweet Nothings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosenkrone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosenkrone/gifts).



> happy birthday sarah!!!! enjoy the disaster
> 
> we did it. it's another stew fic. i said we but fwoops did all the heavy lifting thank u floops.  
> happy birthday pas uwu

There is no shame in not knowing how to cook, especially when one has other duties to attend to and someone else in the platoon is specifically assigned to handle the provisions. Ilsa reminds herself of this, but she finds that the excuse does little to prepare her for the task ahead. She knows it should be simple enough to throw something edible and nutritious together... but the goal here is much more than that.

Korwa _deserves_ much more than that.

And yet Ilsa is one aggravated inhale away from tossing her professional helpers out the kitchen window.

"It's, like, the most basics of bases. Beginner level, totes doable, easy mode. You just gotta chop." Lowain makes a vague chopping motion over the cutting board.

Elsam bangs on a pot with a wooden ladle. "Boil."

"And wait." Tomoi starts juggling an assortment of round fruits.

Ilsa slowly, _slowly_ , inhales, pinches the bridge of her nose, and closes her eyes. When she opens them a moment later, she calmly raises the piece of paper in her hand. "Three steps. You gave me three steps. This recipe lists twenty-seven."

"Real chefs don't read words! The food tells all," Lowain says sagely, stroking his facial hair.

"Gotta read the food..." Tomoi continues, mimicking Lowain's motions despite his complete lack of facial hair.

"And taste the tastes. The tongue knows all." Elsam, too, strokes his nonexistent facial hair.

The glower Ilsa sends them is enough to scare Tomoi and Elsam into scrambling behind Lowain's back. "I _appreciate_ the advice, but I think I can take it from here." Her tone leaves no room for arguments.

With a nervous chuckle, Lowain shuffles his way toward the exit, shoving Tomoi and Elsam back and ignoring their yelps of protest. Just as they're about to leave, he gives Ilsa one last look and says, "Don't forget to add the most important ingredient, yeah?"

Ilsa skims the recipe in her hand again, eyebrow raised. Everything... looks normal. Was he talking about the salt? Even as inexperienced as she is, she knows that forgetting the salt is tantamount to making a meal inedible. "I'm assuming you're talking about the seasonings," she replies. "Yes, I know I have to add those. Now get out."

"No, no, no! A steak's still steak even without the meat, you know? But a guy ain't much of a man without the broski soul! Same deal with making a meal," Lowain explains with a wink.

Ilsa stares at him without answering.

Lowain inches into the hallway. "A-anyway, you gotta add _love_ to the pot before it's done! Good luck, have fun!"

They vanish before Ilsa can wonder exactly what Lowain meant by that.

An hour later, once her first attempt is nearly done, her thoughts wander back to his last piece of advice. She's been tasting the stew periodically for the last fifteen minutes or so, and the broth has been... bland, to say the least. The amount of seasoning she added was exactly according to the recipe, so she isn't sure what else can be done to fix the problem other than adding more salt or... trying to add Lowain's suggested ingredient.

But how the hell is she supposed to do that anyway? Love isn't a physical material she can work with, as far as she knows. Unless somebody on the Grandcypher has concocted a way to solidify emotions (she wouldn't put anything past those alchemists), she's pretty sure she can't actually add _love_ into her food.

Unless...

No. _No._ Absolutely not. The thought of it is enough to make her retch inside.

She might not have much of a choice though. Another spoonful of stew later, the taste is still bland as can be. The stew _smells_ seasoned enough. Would adding more seasoning be a mistake? Would she end up overseasoning?

She stares at the bubbling mixture cooking slowly over the stove.

Was... her pride worth more than making something nice for Korwa?

Deep down inside, she knows the answer to that question. It's an answer that won't ever change, no matter what circumstances she must deal with. Steeling herself, she heaves a drawn out sigh. For Korwa, her brain supplies with as much optimism as possible. Do it for her.

Can't hurt to give it a try, at the very least.

Hovering over the pot, Ilsa purses her lips, brings her hand to her mouth, and blows a kiss directly into the steam.

The second she does so, a loud snort echoes across the room from somewhere near the entrance.

Ilsa's blood runs cold, even as her cheeks burn.

Then she turns. Meets the gaze of a crew member she had not particularly wanted to see. Watches as said crew member quickly goes from smiling to terrified. And feels herself die a little bit on the inside.

"Uh, h-hey, Sergeant! Just, uh... was looking for a quick snack... Don't mind me..." Beatrix stammers slowly out, her eyes widening while drops of sweat begin sliding down her forehead. Her hands are held up preemptively to shield herself, as if she expects Ilsa to draw Nybeth and shoot her in the face.

Ilsa actually almost manages not to resort to violence, but then she remembers the snort she heard, and suddenly Nybeth is in her hands before she can even reconsider.

Beatrix, meanwhile, turns white as a sheet.

"Listen to me," Ilsa commands without emotion, "and listen to me good: you will _never_ speak of what you just saw. To anyone. Ever."

Beatrix vigorously nods, her ponytail flailing wildly with the movement.

"In fact, it never even happened. Understood?"

With another nod, Beatrix pretends to zip her lips shut and throw the key away.

Ilsa, being more than aware of her colleague's habit of blurting out secrets, cocks her guns for good measure and barks, "Are we clear? Give me an answer!"

"C-crystal!"

Ilsa narrows her gaze.

She trusts Beatrix's ability to keep quiet as much as she trusts Katalina's cooking (which is to say: not at all), but considering that she can't permanently silence someone who hasn't exactly committed a crime...

Ugh.

"Actually..." Ilsa sighs, sliding Nybeth back into her belt. There's no real way to salvage the situation anyway, right? She may as well make the most of Beatrix's presence. "Maybe you came at a good time. I could use some assistance."

The second Beatrix hears that her help is needed, she nearly trips over herself in excitement as she scrambles over to the stove. "Oh! I thought you'd never ask!"

"Uh... huh..." Ilsa hesitantly replies. Beatrix had changed tunes alarmingly fast. Even the sweat that had formed on Beatrix's face had vanished as if it had never been there in the first place. How long had she been watching Ilsa struggle in the kitchen?

"Don't worry, you've come to the right person!" And while Beatrix has assumed the smug countenance of someone who knows what they're doing, Ilsa isn't so sure that she has.

"You were only here for a 'quick' snack though, weren't you? Are you sure you aren't busy?" Ilsa makes sure to ask, more than slightly suspicious that Beatrix had been spying the whole time.

Beatrix thinks for a moment, her lips twisting as she ponders, before she shakes her head with a grin. "Nah, it's fine! Whatever it must have been probably wasn't that important." She pauses. "I hope."

Ilsa doesn't feel reassured, to say the least. But Beatrix had seemed genuine in her efforts to recall what she'd been doing beforehand, and she's a terrible liar too, so it's probably safe to say that she wasn't there to peep in on Ilsa's activities. Which is good for Ilsa, of course, but now she can't help but wonder about the possibility of Beatrix forgetting an important engagement instead.

Oh well. Not her problem. This stew, however...

Beatrix leans over to the pot, eyes wide as she looks into it. "Smells good already, Sergeant! But you know what'd make this even better?" Without even waiting for Ilsa to answer, Beatrix starts to rummage through the drawers, pulling out all sorts of containers from within.

"What are you doing," Ilsa asks, casting a wary eye over Beatrix. She'd reach over and stop her, but Ilsa's trying to keep separate her life as a member of Society and a crew member of the Grandcypher. Right now, Beatrix isn't supposed to be her subordinate and they're more as equals on this crew.

Not that Beatrix is making this easier.

"Trust me," Beatrix says with utmost confidence. If Beatrix were to look at Ilsa right now, she'd find Ilsa's eyebrows almost up to her hairline.

"... hm."

While Ilsa has never tasted Beatrix's cooking before, she's also never heard Beatrix giving anyone food poisoning before either, or she's at least never heard Zeta or Eustace make a big fuss out of it. Which, given Beatrix's penchant for wreaking all sorts of havoc, must count for something.

This placates Ilsa only just a little.

"What do you have in here…" Now Beatrix is stirring the pot, peering inside. "Oh… I see!" She starts nodding to herself like she's figured out some sort of secret, except Ilsa has zero idea what gears are even working in Beatrix's head right now. "Let me just add some stuff and it'll turn this stew into something _amazing_."

"Add _what_." Ilsa is rushing forward to grab Beatrix before she gets any other ideas—

"Seriously, just trust me! Even Zeta likes my cooking!" Beatrix adds, already throwing in spices and herbs before Ilsa can stop her. Oh. Ilsa's hand moves to her face instead as she sighs into her palm. So much for that.

Well… if Beatrix says Zeta likes her cooking, everything should be fine, right? While Zeta tends to be just as hard on Beatrix, Ilsa knows that Zeta's also got a deep soft spot for Beatrix hidden deep down.

"I do trust you, which means you understand exactly what's at stake, right?" Ilsa says, her voice as low as a growl.

Beatrix reflexively jumps into a salute, her back going as straight as a pole. "Y-yes, Sergeant! I understand perfectly fine! I promise this'll be the best thing you've ever tasted! Guaranteed! I promise!" Beatrix adds many more words, one too many, really. Ilsa only rubs her head at all the shouting.

"Okay, okay, I get the point, please stop shouting. And _don't_ let the pot burn!"

The two of them start working together, with Beatrix adding in more ingredients than Ilsa had already thrown inside.

"The more, the better, right?" Beatrix grins as she stirs the pot. Meanwhile, Ilsa is eyeing the contents of the stew skeptically. It seems… what's the word she'd use, crowded, maybe? Yes, it seems crowded inside the pot. Even Beatrix looks like she's having some trouble with moving the ladle through the stew. Maybe all those extra carrots and whatever vegetables they'd thrown in wasn't a good idea.

"Oh! And gotta make sure…" Beatrix reaches over to grab what look like several leaves before tossing them into the pot and pushing it into the liquid. "Not sure how but those things make stuff taste even better! Oh, but make sure to take them out before serving." Beatrix pauses to make a face. "You can't eat them."

"... I take it you had firsthand experience with that?" Ilsa says.

Beatrix only laughs nervously in response.

"Bea! Where the heck are you—" A new voice calls out through the halls and Zeta sticks her head through the doorway. "Oh, Ilsa, have you seen..." her voice trails off, squinting at the counter where Beatrix is now frozen, a look on her face like she's suddenly remembering her prior engagement that Ilsa had specifically asked if she had.

Ilsa wants to sigh.

Zeta looks back and forth between the two of them before stepping into the kitchen, on the opposite side of the island as she leans to look at them. "So—"

"I'm sorry, Zeta! I _swear_ I was heading right over to meet up with you but then I wanted to grab a quick snack so I went into the kitchen and then I saw the drill sergeant and I didn't mean to see but I saw her—mmmmphghrgh?!"

"That is _enough_ ," Ilsa says with a hiss, her hand clapping over her Beatrix's mouth. The glare she sends toward Beatrix's way says more than enough so that when Ilsa takes her hand away, Beatrix's mouth is firmly shut. Expression unchanging, Ilsa slides her eyes over to Zeta, who quickly wipes the look of disappointment from her face. "Things happened, and she offered to help me out."

"As in… help you out with cooking?"

"Yes."

"Oh…" Something flashes across Zeta's face. "Bea… you…" Now a mixture of emotions are going across Zeta's face, and what she settles on is pushing her lips together. "Well."

"What's the matter? What's wrong?" Ilsa hopes she doesn't sound panicked, but given the multitude of Zeta's reactions, nothing sounds good now.

"Ah," Zeta waves her hand as if to calm her down, smiling uneasily. "I'll tell you, Bea's cooking is _good_ , but it's, er, not what you think it'll taste like."

"H-hey!" Beatrix's unfrozen now, shaking a finger at Zeta. "I've made sure to improve from last time!"

"It wasn't the improvement you needed! Your cooking's fine! I like eating it! It's just…" Zeta trails off, thinking to herself while Beatrix blinks.

"Zeta, you like my cooking?" Beatrix asks, surprised.

"I do, haven't I told you that before?"

"I've never heard that!"

"Huh? I swear I did."

"Nope! Never heard it!" Beatrix leans forward, trying to hold back her smile. "Say it again, I wanna hear it one more time."

Ilsa loudly clears her throat. Both Zeta and Beatrix startle, sending her sheepish looks. Kids, Ilsa thinks with a shake of her head.

"Well, I think the stew is okay to try!" Beatrix gestures to the pot. "Try it, and be wowed!"

"Really?" Ilsa reaches for the tasting spoon—

"Hold on." Zeta places a hand on Ilsa's shoulder, expression grim for some reason. "Let me try that first." Zeta moves in front of the fresh bowl of stew. When she looks down at it, she visibly swallows.

Ilsa's not sure what to make of that.

"Trust me, Zeta, you're gonna be amazed!" Beatrix pats her chest with a fist, grinning. "It's my new and improved recipe! I made sure to add tons of savory herbs and spices this time too!"

"That'll be up to me to decide," Zeta mutters. She leans down, taking a big whiff of the stew. "Wow! It really does smell delicious!"

"Yeah?" Beatrix is trying hard not to preen at the praise, except she really is.

"You've really outdone yourself this time, Bea," Zeta continues as she takes the spoon and swirls it around the stew.

"Heh! I always outdo myself every time!" The grin on Beatrix's face grows infinitely wider, somehow.

Ilsa gets the feeling that neither of them remember she's still there in the kitchen with them. Again. She crosses her arms and taps her foot loudly against the floor. They both startle, heads whipping toward her to stare at her. Beatrix blinks at her like she's an owl, and at least Zeta has the grace to look sheepish before she clears her throat.

"Okay, here I go…" Zeta takes a mouthful of the stew. Both Beatrix and Ilsa hold their breaths.

"Mmm!" Face scrunching, Zeta continues to chew. There are… many expressions Zeta makes, and Ilsa can't decide if any of them are good. At the very least, she hasn't spat out the stew, which means it's edible, which… is a good thing, right? Ilsa hopes it is.

Finally, after she swallows, Zeta sets the spoon down. "Bea… I don't know how you've managed it, but..."

Beatrix leans forward, eyes trained solely on Zeta. "Yeah, yeah?"

Right at that very moment, Djeeta walks into the kitchen, finally back from her mission and looking famished and ready to eat, her eyes wandering over to the pot stewing away—

Zeta slams the table with her fist as she yells, "This is the sweetest damn stew I've ever tasted in my life!"

—and spins around on her heels and walks right back out the door, all in one fluid motion.

All three of them turn to the door. Silence fills the room save the sound of the stew bubbling in its pot.

"... so does that mean it's good?" Beatrix asks.

* * *

It'll go better this time.

This is what Ilsa tells herself as she makes her way over to the kitchen. While she would have liked to start again the next day, she's had to wait several days before her request to get sole access to the kitchen again had been granted. Ilsa's no stranger to running an organization and keeping track of what facilities are being used, but she's glad she doesn't have to do that for the crew.

After the last disastrous attempt, Zeta and Beatrix had promised Ilsa that they'd take the stew off her hands. Quite literally, too, as Beatrix had grabbed the entire pot and rushed out the kitchen before Ilsa had finished sounding out a "Fine." Zeta had run out after her before Ilsa could also ask _what_ they were even going to do with it, but… well, she could at least depend on Zeta to keep Beatrix out of trouble.

Ilsa pretends she doesn't hear about the mysterious dessert stew the other members of the crew talk about that night.

Enough of that. A new day, a new attempt, a new Ilsa with fresh experience.

"All right, so…" Ilsa goes through the recipe Lowain had given her. Regardless of his questionable advice, there's no doubt he and his friends are outstanding cooks, so she might as well try to follow his recipe again. Getting the ingredients and spices ready, Ilsa readies up another pot of stew, similar to the first attempt.

After what feels like a long time of cutting up vegetables and meat and measuring out all the spices, Ilsa throws it all together into the pot. She stirs through the stew, inhaling deeply. It smells wonderful, if she does say so herself. She's tempted to dip her finger inside to get a taste, but that's foolhardy.

Her ears twitch, listening past the bubbling of the stew. She doesn't pick up any trace or hint of footsteps coming toward the kitchen this time, which means no one is coming near. That's a good sign. If only kitchen doors could be barricaded but alas, even Ilsa knows that's a bad idea when working with fire in an enclosed space.

Eyes going back to the stew, Ilsa stares at it as she places a hand on her chin. As she waited for her turn to use the kitchen, she made sure to borrow cookbooks and do a little more research. She's learned that stew is best after letting it simmer for several hours or even letting it sit overnight, if time permits. If she were to taste this now, it might not taste the same as before if she lets it sit for another few hours.

Still, Ilsa should at least give this a try. Just as Elsam had said, the tongue knows best. It would be prudent of her to get a taste of this to see if it smells as good as it tastes. Her first attempt had shown her how important that was.

Ilsa finds a tasting spoon. Her mouth is salivating a bit and it only just hits her now that in her haste to get this stew prepared, she had accidentally skipped lunch. She'll make sure to get some food after tasting this stew then. She reaches in, spoon dipping into the liquid—

"Looooooowain! This cheesecake you made for me tastes weird! I cut it open and it turned out to be red velvet!"

Floating into the room at that moment is Metera, a plate of cake in her hands. Without even looking at Ilsa or seemingly registering that Lowain and the others aren't in the kitchen, she flings the cheesecake away with her magic.

It lands inside the pot.

It lands _inside_ the pot of stew and knocks the spoon out of Ilsa's hand and into the stew, where it starts to submerge into it. Some of the stew also splashes onto Ilsa's face.

It's burning hot but it feels like nothing in comparison to the simmering fury Ilsa feels boiling inside of her right. She stares inside the pot, watching both cheesecake and spoon sink further into the stew like a ship sinking in the ocean. When she can't see either of them anymore, she wipes the stew off her face and slowly turns her eyes up to Metera, who's staring back with wide eyes.

"You aren't Lowain, and that… was _not_ the trash can," Metera only says afterward.

They stare at each other. The pot continues to boil away. In hindsight, Ilsa could have grabbed it out had she been fast enough… but it wasn't as if she expected a _cake_ to come flying right into her pot of stew.

"Metera," Ilsa starts, her voice low.

"How was I supposed to know the others weren't in here?!" Metera raises her hands defensively. Stony faced, Ilsa continues to stare at her before realizing Metera's been slowly floating toward the ceiling and most certainly out of arm's reach.

Ilsa stretches her arms above her head, feeling her shoulders crack. Her arms fall down, hand landing on Nybeth so she can slide the guns out and place it on the counter, almost all too casually. The pot doesn't seem salvageable anymore, like the spoon that's also bubbling inside. Slowly, Ilsa looks back up, still just as stony faced.

Metera is still floating in the air, but she hasn't moved closer to the ceiling either.

The pot continues to bubble away, sounding as perfectly normal as a pot that previously didn't have cheesecake in it.

Ilsa glances back down toward her guns away—a gust of wind blows up in that moment. Metera is completely gone from sight, leaving Ilsa alone with her ruined pot of stew. Ilsa puts her head down on the counter, sighing heavily. What a _waste._

If Metera didn't want the cheesecake in the first place, Ilsa would have gladly taken it off her hands.

* * *

The third time's the charm.

There's a knock on Ilsa's cabin while she's getting ready to tackle the next attempt of stew making. Just as Ilsa calls out, "Coming!" there's a thud in front of the door, and no other noise. Confused, and now wary, Ilsa inches toward the door, her hand resting on Nybeth.

She can't hear any footsteps, nor does there seem to be anyone else. Carefully, she opens the door just the barest inch.

There's no one there, or anyone in the hall. She can't hear any footsteps running away either. Hm.

But now she sees it, the incredibly nondescript box in front of her door that only makes it more suspicious, if not for the notecard in front that says _Metera_ on it. Oh, now that explains the lack of footsteps, if Metera had just floated away then.

Ilsa swipes the box off the floor, kicks the door shut behind her, and puts it down on her bed. She stares down at it as hard as she can, but there's nothing else that tells her what might be inside.

Ilsa… has a feeling about this box, and it is _not_ good.

Picking up the notecard reveals there's some writing on the back. Ilsa squints down at it, frowning at Metera's awful scrawl. Somehow, she gets the feeling Metera had written this right outside her door before dropping it off. Metera's drawn some sort of smiley face and lots of (poorly scribbled) hearts surround her words as well.

_ilsa sorry for what happened the other day I heard everything from lowain and I just want you to know I'm 100% behind everything!! and I even got you a little present to help you out too! for some more impact, open it around korwa! or not, it's up to you! and also I got you some more help in the kitchen too. enjoy!_

Well. Ilsa didn't think Metera could be… considerate, for lack of better words. She puts the letter down and looks down at the box. Metera had gotten it for her as a present, and, well, Ilsa won't lie and say she feels better about it now.

But only a little. There's a smidgen of… _fear_ at the back of her mind telling her it would be better for her to shove this box underneath her bed and kick it away and forget all about it. Maybe she'll decide that after she opens it and sees what's inside.

Her hand reaches to lift the lid, her eyes glancing over at the clock to check the time—

Oh!

Oh no!

Ilsa is already off schedule—she was already supposed to be in the kitchen, prepping the ingredients for the third (and hopefully _last_ ) bowl of stew.

"I don't have time for this!" Ilsa growls under her breath as she heads out of her cabin and toward the kitchen at a brisk pace. Whatever Metera's given her, she can look at it later.

Wait. Just as Ilsa steps through the doorway of the kitchen, she remembers the rest of Metera's note. She mentioned there was something in the kitchen for her, wasn't there?

And there's Song standing inside, eyes wide as she blinks at her in bewilderment.

There's also a giant dead boar on the counter.

Ilsa stares at her, at a complete loss as to what to even say. Song blinks at her several more times before she finally speaks.

"Hello Ilsa," Song gives her a smile even if Ilsa thinks it looks a bit strained. "Um, would you happen to know where Metera is?"

Oh.

Of course. Ilsa has a feeling she already knows where this is going.

"Metera?" she asks, voice cautious.

Song slowly nods. "Yes… she asked me suddenly to help her hunt for a boar because she said she wanted to make some fresh stew. She told me to bring it here, but I've been waiting around for a while now and she hasn't shown up at all."

Ilsa's suspicions are all but confirmed at this point.

"I think… Metera intended that for _me_ ," Ilsa says with a sigh, pinching the brow of her nose once more. She hasn't even seen or heard Metera at all today and already, the incoming headache is all her fault. Song looks at her in confusion, and Ilsa doesn't even know where to begin to explain.

"I… uh, I've been trying to make a stew for the past few days, but things have always just been going wrong." Ilsa shakes her head. "Metera ruined my attempt yesterday, so I suppose that must be why she asked you to help me."

"Oh…" Song nods emphatically. "All she had to do was say it was for you, I don't know why she didn't bother to mention that."

"It must have slipped her mind," Ilsa mutters. Slipped out of… whatever goes through her mind. The less Ilsa spends on thinking what goes through there, the better.

"Well!" Song looks considerably brighter now, the smile on her face more friendly and familiar. "I was also thinking of making some myself, so if you don't mind, how about we make some together?"

Ilsa suddenly feels like crying. Here's Song, freely offering her help, and Ilsa _knows_ she's competent and less prone to do something like… whatever it was that Beatrix had done. And she wouldn't be rude enough to toss a cake into a pot!

"Are you sure? If you want to make your own stew, then pay me no heed."

"It's fine!" Song is putting on a pair of gloves and apron. She reaches over to grab a butchering knife. "How about I handle the meat and you can handle the vegetables?"

"O-oh!" Ilsa quickly turns away, to the stockpile of vegetables in the corner. She's more than glad that Song is here now because Ilsa would have zero idea on where to even start with the dead boar, and the entire task sounds unpleasant anyway.

"Is this for Korwa?" Song asks her after they've finished their respective tasks. Everything's in the pot, simmering away. It's a different recipe than Lowain had given her but Ilsa's learned that along with hunting, Song also knows her way around a kitchen.

"Ah, yes." Ilsa scratches her cheek, a little embarrassed. "She's busy with a project right now and working nonstop, so I thought about wanting to make something for her."

"Oh, that's so sweet!" Song's holding a hand to her mouth but Ilsa can tell she's grinning behind it. "Korwa's so lucky to have someone like you. But you don't have much time off yourself, too, right?"

"It's not much," Ilsa says with a small wave of her hand. "I'd rather she finish her work than miss deadlines to spend time with me, though."

"You two are always working so hard… but I understand too." Song looks downward, her fingers pressing together as she smiles wistfully. "I'm always busy with the Eternals and when I do find time to come here, sometimes Silva ends up being away on a mission, and depending on how long it is, I might not be able to see her before I have to return. Or sometimes, she has time off but I don't." She sighs afterward, a deep exhale that Ilsa _really_ sympathizes with. "It's hard, trying to get your schedules to line up."

"It really is," Ilsa murmurs. "But being around with this crew is still fun, though," she adds, and she knows Song agrees when she laughs. While Ilsa is slightly (okay, very) disappointed that Korwa hadn't been free on the rare occasion Ilsa _is_ off, Ilsa also appreciates the opportunity it's given her, namely trying to make this stew. Just one of those personal touches where Ilsa intends to show Korwa how much she means to her, even if it's a small gesture in the grand scheme of things.

Now if only certain members of the crew weren't making this simple task feel herculean...

"Maybe when we all find some time off, we should go somewhere together," Song says, now stirring through the pot. "I think it'd be fun if we could do something like go shopping or cafe hopping, or maybe even Auguste!"

Another vacation… The idea sounds lovely, but Ilsa is wincing inside at the thought of trying to squeeze that into her already tight schedule. Song looks like she's already trying to plan it all together, and Ilsa feels a bit bad if she were to say no and ruin the mood. Still, though, the possibility of going somewhere with Korwa and some of their friends, without having to think about work…

"That sounds nice, I'd like that," Ilsa says, a smile easily coming to her lips.

* * *

Song and her had split up the stew between the two of them, and even then, there was more than enough to spare for an extra serving or two.

"Hm, we might have gone too far," Song says before waving her hand. "But I think that happens when you're on a huge crew like this. I'm sure we can find someone to give this to."

"How about Djeeta, Lyria, and Vyrn?" Ilsa suggests. "Although Lyria might just eat up the rest of the stew all by herself."

Song laughs. "She would! But I like that idea. I can give that to them when I find Cucouroux and Camieux." She nudges Ilsa away, toward the exit as she gestures toward the bowl of stew atop a carrying tray. "You should hurry though, the stew's going to get cold now that it's out, and Korwa would appreciate it better when it's hot."

"Ah! You're right!" Ilsa hurriedly takes the tray though she's still trying to be careful not to drop it. That's the absolute last thing she wants. "Thanks for all your help, Song. I really appreciate it!"

"Of course!" Song gives her a little wave. "I know Korwa will love it!"

Ilsa makes her way toward the cabins. She notices some heads turn in her direction at the smell of the stew, but there's only one mission on her mind right now as she walks briskly through the ship.

The stew is still mostly hot by the time she arrives outside Korwa's cabin, which she considers a win. After moving the tray over to one hand, she knocks on the door, and waits.

"One moment!" comes Korwa's voice from inside. Something seems to scrape against the wood, and then there's a loud thud followed by Korwa cursing loudly.

"K-Korwa?!" Ilsa's alarmed, knocking again. "Is everything okay?"

"Oh, Ilsa! Is that you? Hold on, I just…" a yelp sounds out but after several more seconds, Korwa opens the door wide, a grin on her face though she seems slightly out of breath. "Hi!"

"Uh… hello. Is everything okay in there?" Ilsa can't help but take a glance inside Korwa's room. Her eyes nearly boggle at all the fabric in the room, all of it leading up to the mannequin standing in the middle of the room.

"Yeah, yeah, nothing messed up. Just accidentally knocked something on the floor and it went under my table so I'll have to fish that out later. Enough about that, though." Korwa's eyes move down to the tray in Ilsa's hands, and Ilsa can see the corners of her lips tugging into a smile, as if already knowing. "What's that?"

"Ah, I…" Ilsa clears her throat. "Since you're so busy, I thought it might be better for you to get some dinner in your room instead of needing to head out to the galley."

"Oh! And you… you made this for me?"

Ilsa nods. "Er, yes. I mean, I had some help from Song too, but—"

"That's about the sweetest thing I've ever heard!" Korwa reaches out to pull Ilsa into a hug though it's awkward with the tray between them still. When she breaks apart, she takes the tray from Ilsa. "It smells delicious, I can't wait to try it!"

"I hope you enjoy it," Ilsa says, wondering if Korwa can hear how nervous she feels. Both Ilsa and Song had liked it when they tried it (it wasn't sweet and tasted savory at least), but she's still not sure if Korwa will.

"I _know_ I will," Korwa says, giving her a wink before her smile turns apologetic. "Sorry, but I really have to get back to my work."

"Of course, don't let me keep you."

Ilsa, after eating her share of the stew and now with a warm stomach, spends the rest of her night in her own cabin, flipping through travel magazines. She doubts she'll be able to go anywhere else soon, but it'd be nice to make a list and plan so she'll know right away what to do when she gets time off, and preferably when Korwa isn't busy either. It's a wistful dream, given how much Society demands of her, but it's something nice to look forward to after all her grueling days.

Fantasizing and dreaming of all the places she wants to visit makes the time pass faster than Ilsa realizes. Before she knows it, she's already yawning behind her hand.

And that's when the knock on her door comes.

"Ilsa? Are you still awake? It's Korwa!"

Instantly alert, Ilsa puts the magazines on her desk and hurries to the door, swinging it open. Korwa's standing there, looking as chipper as she always does though Ilsa can now see the bags under her eyes. "Can I come in?" she asks.

"Of course, you don't need to ask," Ilsa says, moving aside to make way for her.

Korwa strides into the cabin as if it's her own room, stopping right in front of the bed. She stares down at it before unceremoniously kicking off her shoes and flopping right on top of it, face down. She screams, voice muffled by the blankets.

"K-Korwa?" Ilsa rushes over to the bed but now she's hesitantly standing next to it, a hand in the air and wondering what to do. She watches as Korwa takes a deep breath and flips right side up.

"Okay! I feel better now." Korwa sits up, smiling as if she hadn't just… done whatever she'd just done. "I managed to finish up my commission tonight so I'm feeling really tired. But my bed's full of fabric and all my tools, and frankly, I'm feeling too lazy to clean up." Even now as she speaks, Ilsa can see her eyes fluttering, trying to fight against the drowsiness.

"Of course, feel free to sleep here tonight. I'll see if I can find some extra blankets and sleep on the floor—"

 _"Ilsa."_ Korwa pouts at her, and Ilsa's heart flutters a bit at the adorable sight. Reaching out, Korwa tugs on Ilsa's arm. "C'mon, are you really going to be like that when I'm here?"

"Oh…" Ilsa sits at the edge of the bed. Korwa's pout turns into a wide grin and she shuffles over, taking Ilsa's arm and leaning against her shoulder now.

"That's what I'm talking about," Korwa mumbles, sounding considerably sleepier. Ilsa relaxes into her touch, smiling fondly as she looks down at her.

"Hey now, if you're tired, you should just go to sleep." Even as Ilsa says this though, she threads their fingers together, enjoying the warmth of Korwa at her side.

"And miss spending time with you? No way!"

"I'll still be here tomorrow, you know."

"Really?" Korwa yawns, and furiously shakes her head like she's trying to get rid of the sleepiness. "That stew you gave me was the kick I needed to get through the finish line. And it was so delicious!" She leans up to press a kiss against Ilsa's cheek. "Thanks!"

"It's no trouble." It was totally a lot of trouble, but Ilsa's cheeks color in response, and Korwa laughs before returning to her earlier position of leaning against Ilsa.

Wonderful, Ilsa thinks. There surely isn't a greater bliss in the world than to simply be in the presence of the woman she loves. It feels a bit overwrought and melodramatic to think of it like that, but Ilsa's always had a soft side. The warmth of Korwa at her side is making even Ilsa feel like starting to nod off, her eyes closing. She presses her lips against Korwa's ear, trying not to laugh when she feels it twitch in response.

Maybe it might be better for them to turn in for the rest of the night. Ilsa feels a bit bad that Korwa's forcing herself to stay up, but being able to fall asleep together is another type of bliss and comfort too.

"Hey, Ilsa. If you don't mind me asking, what's that?"

Ilsa opens her eyes, blinking as she sees Korwa gesturing to the box still on Ilsa's table—

Oh.

No.

"Uh," Ilsa answers eloquently. Her mind is blanking right now, having pushed everything that had happened with Metera out of her mind already. Even earlier when she had come in, with the box still on her bed just as she had left it in the morning, she had simply set aside the box and told herself to deal with it another time. What a mistake that'd been.

"Is that Metera's writing?" Korwa squints. "Did she give you something?"

Ilsa pinches the bridge of her nose. "Uh, I guess… you can say that. Things happened, and she gave me that as an apology."

Korwa looks curious but doesn't press the issue further. Ilsa's eyes fall on the note, though, and she remembers the part that mentioned opening it with Korwa.

She might regret this but well, what's the worst that could happen? What's the worst _now_ given all those disastrous attempts at stew?

Pulling away from Korwa to reach over and grab the box, Ilsa sets it down in her lap. "Metera mentioned opening it when you were around. Not sure what it could be though."

"Oh? She did, huh?" Korwa's eyes are sparkling with curiosity, much more awake than she'd been earlier. "Well? The anticipation is killing me!"

Nodding, Ilsa lifts the lid.

Ilsa would later claim that she had _definitely_ not been in the right of mind when she thought of this. She really should have listened to her inner voice when she had first received the package. She _really_ should have kicked this underneath her bed and forgotten this even existed. It'd been _all_ the stress.

Inside the box is _the_ raunchiest piece of lingerie Ilsa has ever seen. It's—how—what—it's _so_ thin. It just seems like the skimpiest piece of fabric held together by just the thinnest lines possible. How!?

It's also see-through.

Ilsa stares down at it. She can't tell if the heat rising to her face is embarrassment, anger, or both. It's… it's an emotion, that's all she knows.

She is _going_ to _strangle_ Metera the next time she sees her.

"Oh, wow. That's, uh, something." Korwa leans closer, squinting at it. She opens her mouth as if to say something else before she closes it, looking back and forth between the piece of cloth (because what else could something so thin be called) and Ilsa.

"I think I could totally make something better, though."

It takes Ilsa a full second to process the statement. But after that second passes, she can't help herself—she laughs. It's not that she doesn't believe in Korwa. No, she's a hundred percent certain Korwa could make something far better. But the situation is so absurd, and she's just so tired, and honestly? She's had enough anger and irritation the past couple of days.

Tossing the offensive article of cloth away from the bed and into another corner of the room, Ilsa brings Korwa close again. "After all the work you just finished, maybe you shouldn't go searching for another task so soon."

"Hmm... A personal project isn't as draining as work, though." Korwa snuggles into the crook of Ilsa's neck, her ears tickling the skin there. After a moment, she shifts again, this time to caress the curve of Ilsa's cheek. "But you make quite the comfy headrest, and I'd rather not dig through that mess in my room to search for the right materials."

Ilsa huffs in amusement. "Should I take that to mean you want me to go over tomorrow and help tidy up?"

"You know you're more than welcome to visit at any time." Ilsa can feels Korwa's lips moving against her skin, curving upward in what must be an impish grin. "Even wearing that too, if you want."

"I am _not_ doing that." Ilsa sighs just as Korwa laughs.

"Not even as a favor for me?" Korwa moves back slightly to bat her eyelashes at her, and honestly, it's hard not to give in a little, even if what she's asking for is absolutely ridiculous.

"I'll think about it," Ilsa says as noncommittal as she can, hoping Korwa might forget everything given how tired she is. By the way Korwa's eyes widen slightly though, that doesn't seem likely, and Ilsa hopes she hadn't just made a huge mistake. Korwa doesn't say anything but her eyes say it all with that mischievous glint in there now.

Either way, it's getting late, and they—Korwa, really—should be heading off to bed.

"Come on, we're both too tired for this." Ilsa pulls them over to the pillows and throws the covers over them. Korwa's nice and warm against her but hands reach around Ilsa's neck and pull her down slightly. Korwa kisses her, a gentle touch against her lips that makes Ilsa smile.

"A good night's kiss makes for the perfect happy ending to a day, don't you think?" Korwa says once she pulls away.

"Mmm... Just being with you is more than enough. But the kisses definitely don't hurt." Ilsa smiles as she gives her one more kiss for good measure.


End file.
